


Souls

by tarori



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Gen, Hollowing, Mentions of Velka (Dark Souls), Silver Knights - Freeform, Slightly Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29630679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarori/pseuds/tarori
Summary: This fic is part of a Soulsborne Chain Game. Please, check the other fanworks, as the other participants had done an amazing work!Post with the other works and original prompt
Kudos: 1





	Souls

He wasn’t smart. Strength wasn’t his most remarkable characteristic. His hands were clumsy with any weapon. There wasn’t a single trait in him that could ensure his way out of the trickiest situations unscathed. Except, maybe, his luck. 

To put it simple, he was only good at envying others’ fortunes. After all, that had been his only reason to join the Thieves Guild at his chaotic city, when he was no older than a little brat. 

Since his joining, he had brought wealth to the Guild and he quickly rose in its hierarchy. Over the years, he got to be the right hand of the leader. Not because of his intelligence nor his strength, but his luck to return from the dirtiest jobs with hands full of treasures. 

Whispers had it that his greed was so big that Gods were repulsed by the mere sight of his filthy soul, allowing him to laugh at their holy faces without facing any punishment, dodge the multiple ends destiny had prepared for him and get his hands on the greatest treasures no one could have ever dreamt.

With time, the Thieves Guild’s leader grew older and died, his mandate moved on to the second in line, his right hand. He was celebrated and worshiped for a whole day. Even though no bandit really trusted his ability to lead them, they had to remain quiet as the rules said.

During his first week of leadership, he decided to have rest, ordered not to disturb him and left his right hand to lead the guild instead of him. Everything seemed to work fine, but during his second week, the bandits’ premonitions became true. The Guild started to lose members in impossible missions, the prison started to lack space, and the remaining bandits weren’t paid according to their hard work while the leader basked in the fortune he said was spent in making the guild prosper. 

The glory days finally came to a stop.

The bandits, desperate because of the quick decline of their beloved Guild, decided it was time to look up at the sky and try to speak with the deities that ignored them long ago. They walked to an abandoned temple outside their city because they couldn’t be seen in broad daylight, not when they all had been identified by the royal guard.

The temple had fallen apart even before they were born. Rocks were everywhere and the remains of benches scattered across the floor. One of the bandits, the most nervous about being outside so early in the morning, caught a glimpse of books covered in mold under a broken window. In a region where clerics were seen at every corner, it was a mystery why no one had decided to rebuild it and worship whatever god the temple was made for. 

At the back of the temple, there were small stairs that, somehow, managed to remain intact. On top of it was an altar with the remains of a crumbled statue. When they were in front of it, they made up the ends of a long skirt and the start of delicate toes. Around it, its remains waited on the floor for someone to collect and return them where they belonged. Another bandit, who was uncomfortable by the presence of the marbled skirt, made out a thin broken arm holding a book between the rubble.

Kneeling in front of the unknown god (or goddess), they prayed, wishing their united voices could be heard although they weren’t men of faith

After a long half an hour of whisperings, the bandit who felt more nervous about being in front of the statue, thought they were being watched. His thieves' senses worked fine, making him raise up and turn around, just in time to catch the back of a long skirt and black hair walking out of the temple. It was a woman. She would tell them off and the royal guard would be upon them in a jiffy. The bandit ran outside, dagger in one hand ready to use it against the woman, no matter age, position or constitution. 

To his surprise, there was no one in the green wide field, which had no place to hide.

* * *

Time went on and the group of bandits that prayed for the Guild’s survival understood that no god would answer them. The Thieves Guild was on the verge of collapse.

With the number of bandits close to just a bunch of fools, the leader was forced to take on missions after years of scratching his belly. He chose a mission that took place in a mansion belonging to a well-known cleric of the Church of the Way of White. It was risky but worthy. As if it was some kind of joke, his two partners in crime would be some of the bandits that prayed for his dethronement.

They started working at night. Nevertheless, the mansion was guarded by multiple knights taking patrols around it. Upon that sight, the two bandits wappred their minds around their upcoming arrest. 

Therefore, they were surprised by how fast they entered the house and located their target chest. It seemed that the leader’s luck was intact after so many years of disuse.

The two bandits were ordered to keep an eye on the basement door while the leader’s clumsy hands worked on the chest’s lock. Then, when it fell to the ground with a loud thump, one of the bandits, who was looking at the bad illuminated hallway, flinched. The sound travelled across the hallway before a heavy silence took over the place.

It was the calm before the storm.

In about five minutes, the door was pushed open with great force by a knight, another six already waiting behind him. The force with which they came in pushed the bandits to the floor. The leader had his hands buried deep in the chest. There was no possible explanation for them to give, not even a poor lie.

“You are under arrest!” The first knight bramed. “Put down any weapon and raise your hands!”

The two bandits did so. They made daggers and knives slide towards the silver group and raised their hands. However, their leader didn’t obey. With a smirk, he got up, with several gold bars under his arms.

“I’m sure there is a proper solution we can all agree to,” he said boldly.

The knight simply repeated his order and the other six entered the room, swords held in a threatening stance. The two bandits felt they were going to piss their pants. One of them glared nervously at the door, catching a glimpse of white robes. It was the cleric, owner of the mansion.

The leader kept talking in a vain attempt to convince the guards to seathe their swords and let them free, but no one seemed to listen to him. Two knights walked to the bandits and arrested them, and another one approached the leader. In the end, he was forced to drop the gold and let the knights arrest him. They all walked outside of the mansion. The knights kept a firm grip on the ropes around their wrist while a nervous cleric followed them with a talisman held close to his chest.

Suddenly, the knight holding the leader’s rope got his attention caught by another knight on patrol. It was just for a brief second, but the leader noticed the hand faltering. He peeked behind him, and his eyes met the knight’s metallic check while his voice was telling the other knight to talk later. Apparently, he was the captain.

The leader smirked. It was his opportunity. He ran and the rope slipped through the knight's fingers like water, all the while his bandits observed him with mouth agape. 

The captain sighed, bramed an order and something cut through the air. An arrow was buried in the leader’s back and made him collapse on the floor with a soft thump, unnatural after the sudden rush. 

The two other bandits that were still alive looked at the dead body perplexed. Even though they were going to jail, one of them couldn’t hold back his smile. It was over. The terrible rule of their leader was finally over. The Thieves Guild was saved! It was impossible to believe their prayers had been answered after so long! 

All the while, the bandit who wasn’t smiling at the corpse, noticed a woman standing at the entry. When he looked at her, though, his eyes could only catch a flick of white fabric and black hair hiding behind the rock wall.

A gasp dragged his attention back. There was a problem with the leader's body. It was… fading, slowly, as if making sure that everyone present saw him escape after dead. There was a shock coming from the knights, but the cleric simply murmured some hurried words. When one of the bandits looked at the man clothed in white robes, he saw him crossing himself. 

After it, with a demanding voice the cleric announced to the knights, “By all the Gods, search him! Quick! We cannot let an undead wander the lands!”

* * *

At first there was darkness, but then his eyes saw light, a warm welcoming light that made him feel at home. He opened his eyes and saw a bonfire.

A bonfire?

The bonfire had a sword stuck in the middle of it, and around the base… Bones! And a skull! 

He gasped and crawled back. Where was he? The last thing he remembered… He was at the mansion trying to steal gold! But he got caught along with two of his men. What an incopetent pair! It was their fault they all got caught. Then, what else? Oh, right. They were under arrest and led out of the house. There was a knight, a captain, who kept hold of his rope, but he escaped. The last thing he remembered was a great pain through his chest and falling to the ground. After it, everything turned black.

What had happened?

He looked at his hand. They weren’t of the same skin color as usual but darker. Rot? How weird. 

A faint pain came from the place he felt the previous one at the mansion. It was nagging at him and with a swift movement, he removed his shirt to have a look.

What was that?! 

After letting out a scream, his nails scratched the black twirling skin. But none of the muck (because it was muck, right?) would go. After some time scratching he decisted and looked at the black skin in more detail. It had… In the middle there was a hole. He quickly put his shirt back on and looked around. There had to be an explanation for it. His eyes felt on the bonfire and he recalled. The whistle, the sound cutting the air. It had been an arrow that started the pain. It had been an arrow that ended it. He had been… dead? His eyes blinked at the crippling flames, feeling a weird comfort, as if a mother was cradling his child. 

It must be that. He had heard the tales. The undead curse... Had he became an undead?

A smile spreaded on his lips and he got up. Destiny had given him another chance to return to the Thieves Guild. There was nothing he should be afraid of anymore. He could grow his fortune and luxury because no matter what happened, he would prevail!

“There he is!” Someone screamed behind him.

In the blink of an eye, there were knights on top of him. A knee was pressed on the back of his neck and a rope was once again tied around his wrists, and arms.

“Thanks to Lord Gwyn!” Another voice spoke behind him while he was putting back on his feet. “It was a good idea to set this bonfire in this forsaken place... Now, take him to prison! I have to contact the Asylum.”

There was a group of five knights around him and two were keeping a hold on his arms. The man who had spoken was a cleric, owner of that mansion.

He was at the outskirts of the city, far away from it. He wondered how much time had passed since he died and appeared at the bonfire. His body felt weird, heavy, and it was as if… he could hear a whisper coming from the hole on his chest. He shook his head, maybe he was still getting used to his undead body.

After a long walk, they got to the city’s jail and he was put behind bars. It didn’t matter to him, because he was certain that he would break free and run away to another city with all his belongings. He would just have to wait.

What was that place the cleric had mentioned, the Asylum? It didn’t matter.

Time passed. Days, weeks… He discovered that he didn’t need food or water, he didn’t need to sleep or pee. Spending time just staring was a bit agonizing, but he could endure it as long as he kept in mind his escape. 

But against the luck he had always relished, his opening never came. The security around his cell was constant and there was not a single minute when his door wasn’t guarded by two knights minimum. He wondered why he was given such an importance.

One day, knights he hadn’t seen before arrived at the jail and the cleric in person led them to his door.

“There he is. The filthy undead.”

He looked at the knights and opened his mouth in shock. They were Silver Knights! Two of them opened the door of his cell and stormed inside. One knight hit him on the head with his elbow and, again, it all went black. But not because he had died.

* * *

The next time he woke up, he couldn’t see anything (he was sure there was nothing covering his eyes) but it was clear he was inside a carriage. The familiar sound of horses’ hooves hitting the ground could be heard. 

There was no window nor a way to open a door, neither something he could do to escape, so he waited and waited. 

Without knowing how much time had passed, the carriage’s door was finally open. He was met with the bright sight of Silver Knights and was pulled outside. With a look around it was impossible to recognize the high walls, the door nor the mountains around. Was this that Asylum?

“Where am I?” He asked with a raspy voice.

The only thing he got as an answer was a muffle snort coming from the Silver Knight at his left.

He was thrown inside another cell, older and rustier than the first one at the city. No words came from the pair of knights when they left. It was weird, but the whole hallway was without any kind of vigilance. With stiff fingers, his hands grabbed the bars and tried to have a look around. He wasn't the only one in there. There were other prisoners. Or, undeads. He tried calling the one from the cell in front of him but the pinky ball of flesh wouldn’t answer. Weird.

He sat down, feeling his body a bit tired. 

How much time had passed? It was impossible to tell. But he would try to escape once his legs didn’t feel heavy.

Later, searching inside his pocket, he pulled out his most valuable tool: a lockpick. He had used it millions of times, opening him millions of paths. This one wouldn’t be less. The jail’s door was opened with a faint squeak and he slipped his body outside. 

Trying to be as quiet as a little mouse, he walked the corridor until reaching some stairs. He took them up and found himself in another hallway. The whole place was like a tiny labyrinth but once he thought he was recognizing where he was, he felt something cutting through his flesh, muscle and bones.

A sword. He had been found by a Silver Knight.

When he woke up at a bonfire, there was a breeze hitting his face. He was in an inner courtyard of some sort, but he didn’t have time to contemplate it. Two Silver Knights were already awaiting for him. He was dragged back to his cell. On their way, he observed that his body was feeling heavier and the hole had started whispering louder.

How annoying!

Even if his first attempt at escaping had been a total failure, he didn’t give up. The Silver Knights didn’t notice his faithful lockpick inside his pants and he got out once again after the tiredness and weakness of getting revived faded away. The incomprehensible whispers, though, never ceased.

He found his end in the sword of a Silver Knight again. And again. And again. And again. No matter the different path he took each time, he would always find them. 

In a vain attempt, the Silver Knight changed his prison multiple times, wondering if the door was broken or the wall had a hidden gap. Lastly, they took him to a cell where there was another undead inside. It was a woman with white hair and a thin constitution. She clenched a ragged talisman close to her chest. She looked way less worn out than him. In fact, upon a closer look, she looked like a normal human. They didn’t greet each other, but the hole on his chest jumped happily when his eyes fell upon her.

With the passing of days (he needed more time to gain full control over his body after each death), the whispers weren’t whispers anymore. The hole was practically screaming inside his head. It was just two words: kill her.

_ Why?  _ He asked. 

_ To take what belongs to you _ , answered the black hole.

He ended up doing so. 

The thin woman had a habit of curling up in a corner during night, making it impossible to see him. That was his opportunity, and he took it to wrap his hands around her delicate neck and snap it. Then, something happened. A faint little smoke appeared from her, like a little ghost. It floated in the air until it flew right at his chest. The hole hummed contempt. It felt good. Her body disappeared and, in her place, appeared another little ghost, but black. He picked it up and gave it a closer look.

_ Crush it _ , said the hole.

He did it, and his hands turned the same skin color he remembered to have long ago. Tiredness left his body. The hole smiled and felt quiet. He smiled.

But the moment of silence wasn’t meant to last. He was killed again next time he tried to escape and the hole started whispering again. With each following die, the hole grew louder. There was something nagging at him, a feel of need, of despair. He missed feeling like a normal human, and the hole told him that to feel that again, he needed to kill. But there was no one to kill!

His body felt heavy. It was impossible to know how much time had passed since his first arrival. It was hard to think, and it was hard to keep ignoring the hole. It itched and he scratched it every minute. There was nothing else he could do to soothe it.

Would he be able to find the damn entry? As an answer, he died again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

Next time he got out of his cell, he walked a rusty hallway until he stumbled and fell to a small pool on all fours. It had been raining lately. He knew it because some water had slipped through a small crack on the ceiling of his cell. The water in there only reached over his wrists. He looked down at his reflection. It seemed normal, but there was something weird with his eyes. They didn’t look the same, normal.

His mind elaborated the first coherent thought after a long time:  _ I need to get out of here. I need to go back home. I need my fortune. I need… _

_ To kill. To kill. To kill. To kill. To kill. _

The hole took over his mind, as it had been doing for the past days, and silenced his inner voice.

All of a sudden, he felt a pain in his chest. It was the black hole again. Itching, twirling, asking. He succumbed under his own weight. He got on all fours again. With a shaky hand he scratched the itchy hole through his clothes.

“What do you want?” He asked aloud.

_ Souls _ , the hole answered.  _ Humanity _ .

“I can’t give that to you!”

The hole twirled, hurting him from inside. He let out a scream and bringed his hand to it. The pain was nothing he had ever experienced before. So, he needed souls. But how did he get them?

_ Kill. Hurry _ , the whole said.  _ I am hungry. _

He let out a cry of pain. His chest hurted so much!

A faint chuckle was heard behind him. He turned around, clumsy and heavy. Somehow, his eyes were having some trouble to see what was in front of him. It was hard to make out the face of the woman in front of him. However, he saw the swing of a white skirt and long black hair, before everything got a faint shade of red.

Then, he sensed it. Not humanity but souls. Lots of souls inside her. The hole felt overwhelmed by it. He wanted to kill her. He wanted them all for him.

“Greed is a great sin,” she chuckled with a warm voice, as if hearing his unintelligible thoughts. “I was called to give you punishment and you’ve finally faced it.”

He threw himself to her. But his fingers only brushed the fabric of his skirt before she disappeared in the blink of an eye. His face hit the ground. He let out a scream. His souls!

“By all the Gods,” someone spoke behind him, tiredness in their voice. “It’s him again…”

He turned around, not seeing knights but red and souls. The hole twirled angered and he screamed again. It hurted so much!

“Look, he’s already gone mad. I was wondering when it would happen.”

“What do I do, sir?”

“Right, you are new here. Just kill him. Then we’ll go to the bonfire in front of the guardian and bring him back to his cell.”

“Just… kill him?”

“Of course! They don’t feel pain anymore. By the next time he wakes up, he’ll go hollow and won’t cause us any more problems.”

“Alright. As you command.”

The Silver Knight raised his sword and stuck it in his chest. Everything went black. The next time he woke up everything was red. A groan slipped through his lips. He could sense them around, getting closer to him.

Those were souls.

_ Kill them. Take what it’s yours. Your souls. I need them. _


End file.
